Ricochet
by Andra-ggfan
Summary: Plans change, arms get twisted and, somehow, they're both in town for Christmas. (Very) post-finale Literati in 5 parts.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Pretty much all the gratitude in the world goes to NotThereNeverAround for a hell of a lot of things: editing, rewriting, naming this story, listening to me whine more than you can imagine. She's nothing short of a superhero with extra awesome thrown in and a much better writer than me, so go check out her stuff.**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

There's a throng of Christmas lights and nearly as many townspeople in the Dragonfly. The words 'fire code violation' keep flashing through his head, twinkling in rhythm with the lights. It's all building up to a headache the champagne isn't helping, but he has to keep drinking to make it through the night, and through being cornered in turn by each and every single one of the people in the room. _Over here we have exhibit number one, former teenage town hoodlum, now grown up and reformed. Don't worry, he won't bite, step right up, folks_. He's been through every variation on the same theme he can think of: " _Philadelphia, small independent book publisher, we talk on the phone, sorry, I think I see someone else."_ And, somehow, through every inane conversation, he's caught enough of her over shoulders and between people because, goddammit, his eyes are still drawn to her.

What he sees are chinks. She's there, the grownup version of the her he knew, but there's a new her behind it all, one that bleeds through the cracks. A dropped smile, faraway look, nervous digging of fingers into palm. The not quite there unless you're staring too closely skipped breaths when someone drops something across the room. And he definitely is staring too closely.

Nineteen year old him would have shouted to the skies – he was big on the shouting, that guy – that he saw them because he knew her. A few weeks past thirty him – who's had some therapy, but a lot more self-revelations from booze fueled nights – is probably nearly ok enough to admit to himself it's because he's got a few chinks of his own. Beacons of fucked upeddness, spotlighting straight onto someone else's fucked upeddness.

He's just finished talking to Andrew, the first nearly not making him want to garrote himself with a string of lights conversation of the night, and now there's finally some respite spent wondering if the champagne was ever going to be replaced by something with less literal bang and more of the metaphorical kind. He's about to go find Luke to ask about it when she walks up to him. There's a smile, and he smiles too. Not awkward, not entirely, but not entirely easy either.

"You finally made it to one of these things," she waves her glass delicately to indicate the party around them.

"There was a lot of cajoling. I didn't think you were coming," he adds after a pause, an afterthought.

"Hey, that makes it sound like you wouldn't be here if you'd known." It's light-hearted. She laughs at the end of it. "I've promised one too many Christmases I didn't get to deliver on in the end so I said no, but there was a change of plans. Surprise."

"Good. I bet Lorelai's glad to see you." She's been hovering around her daughter all evening, rarely more than five steps away.

"If I go missing, she's probably locked me somewhere so I don't leave again."

"I'll alert the authorities." He wants to say something, but it all feels stupid. _Nice weather we're having, looks like it's gonna be a white Christmas. How've you been? Anything happen in the last ten years?_

"Rory!" A voice calls from somewhere in the crowd and she shrugs apologetically.

"Speaking of my future kidnapper."

"Just pull your ear three times if you need me to call for help."

"Which one?"

"Either. One I can see would probably work better."

"Makes sense. Catch up later, ok?"

"Sure."

Six glasses of champagne later, he hightails it out of there, the 'later' not having happened.

* * *

He stops by the diner on the way from Andrew's. He knows Luke knows he's just procrastinating over going to Liz's house, but neither of them says anything. Somehow, he still isn't quite sure how to deal with PTA mom Liz, even if he's managed to shake the constant 'after me, the flood' expectation he used to have of her.

He isn't sure how he got roped into helping out but before long he's got an order pad in his hands. Outside, the winter carnival is in full swing, and the same song has been blaring from the speakers for at least as long as he's been in town. All he wants for Christmas is for the CD to spontaneously combust, sorry, Mariah.

After explaining to some guy three times that no, they don't do gluten free burger buns, yes, he's sure, no, he doesn't need to check, he finally gets him to order a burger with no bun. He's just about to head back to the kitchen when he sees her, walking away from the Mrs Kim's booth of eternal fire and damnation towards someone standing on the sidewalk. It doesn't take much to figure out who the tall guy with straggly hair is, even if he's got a toddler glued to his side instead of a middle schooler. It's all so déjà vu it makes him smile. He's stood in that place watching them together about a million times, or what felt like it. The town had a way of bringing it all back together. Some shit never changes.

He watches her tilt her head towards her mother and then look at the diner, no doubt telling Dean they were on the way there. Dean looks at the diner too, and they both spot him at the same time. She laughs and waves. He nods in greeting, before shaking it off and turning away from the scene. He's not seventeen any more, none of them are. He hands the order to Luke.

"I think I've seen that movie before." Luke tells him, looking at the window and Rory and Dean beyond it.

"Tell me about it. I should head out, Liz is probably waiting."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks for the help."

"No problem."

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and heads outside. He toys with the idea of going over, just to relive it all, but some woman he doesn't know has joined the small group, another little kid holding onto her hand.

* * *

She's in the Dragonfly's foyer, coat on, impatient look on too. He's just back from Liz's and trying to decide if he would rather brave the dining room or the town for dinner. She stops her pacing abruptly in front of him, an inch too close.

"Hey," she smiles, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Sorry, I didn't mean to nearly run you over."

"I'll live."

"I saw you've given up writing for the great calling of bussing tables."

"Had to find something that can actually pay the bills."

"Only until that Nobel prize money comes in."

"Should be any day now." He smirks. "Where are you off to?"

"Grandparents' house, if mom ever finishes whatever she's doing. Well, grandma's house now, I suppose." There's a lot of sadness there, and something he thinks looks like guilt.

"I heard about your grandfather. I'm sorry."

"Thanks. Mom said you sent her a card."

He shifts his weight to the other foot, looking down at them. "Yeah, I don't know. Luke mentioned it, so I…"

"It was nice."

"Must be why it felt so weird then." He chuckles. "This afternoon, in town, with…" He tilts his head towards the general direction of town.

"Yeah, that was…"

"Weird?" He finishes her sentence when she stops and she nods.

"Definitely."

"Was that his kid? Or is he the town's Child Catcher?"

"Taylor's not quite there yet, though he did try to hand out thirty day bans from public places to any child found crying above seventy decibels." She runs her right hand absentmindedly over her left shoulder. "It was his. He's got a couple, third on the way. I met his wife too. She's nice."

"Good for him." There's a short earnest nod.

"At least someone's got it together."

"Says the international war correspondent."

This time it's her looking at her feet. "I've got the job thing, I suppose, but the rest…"

"I know the feeling."

She looks up again and she's somehow moved closer. They're still too far to touch, not without the intention to do so, but they both know they should probably move away. They don't.

"I'm going to take some comfort in knowing I'm not the only one still working on it."

"It's this town, I think. Makes you feel bad for not being cookie cutter," he says.

She wants to reply, but Lorelai scrambles into the room, one arm through her coat, trying to shove the other one in too. "We are so, so late!"

"And whose fault is that?" Rory finally steps back, whatever it was between them broken.

"No time to blame me, let's hurry instead. Bye, Jess." She nearly shoves her daughter out the door. He stands there for a few seconds, before heading for the stairs.

* * *

" _Room service!_ " The voice is muffled by the door, but it's easy enough to recognize. He opens it, and a blast of noise carries up from the dining room. Words, music, glassware, metal scraping against ceramic.

"I didn't order any." He smirks.

She pushes past him, platter in hand, silver dome on top of it. "It's just that kind of place, we can read your mind." Sets it down on the desk. He waits by the door, unsure of what to do. When she starts rifling through his books, he closes it.

"Sorry about the mess," he says as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"Let me borrow a couple of these and I might forgive you."

"Not the top two."

"Ok." She picks them up and sets them aside, then starts picking through the rest, one at a time, flipping them over to check the back covers. "You're missing the party." She tells him, eyes on the books.

"I signed up for Christmas dinner, not that and Christmas Eve lunch."

"It's not that bad. You might be able to get away with not saying more than three words."

"Three more than I need if I stay up here."

"I can't argue with that math."

"Not that one, it's terrible." He tells her as she tries to add another book to her stack.

"Duly noted." She adds it to her borrowing pile anyway. "My dad's downstairs. And Luke. And mom. It's awkward."

"That why you're here?"

"That and I needed a break from all the talk about over _there_. You haven't asked about any of it. It's refreshing."

"I read your stuff, I've got some idea."

"I didn't think you'd… I don't know. Be interested in the subject matter?" She suggests half-heartedly. "It's not like I'm writing for the Times either. There's easier to find stuff than mine out there."

"I gotta support the underdog, the Times has enough readers."

"I read your latest book. The one before was better." She tells him, moving the pile of books to the edge of the desk and turning to face him.

"Ouch. Critics liked it."

"It didn't feel like you, that's all. I suppose the better was relative."

"I was going through some things."

"And you had to take it out on the poor book? Shame on you." She laughs, picking up her selection. "I should get back before they start thinking God knows what. Are you sure you don't want to change your mind?"

"I'm good." He looks at the platter she'd brought. "Can't let a perfectly good whatever that is go to waste."

"Couple of sandwiches."

"They might go cold." He smirks.

"I'll get these back to you before you leave." She holds up the books, pushing the door handle down with her elbow.

"Don't worry about it, I've read them."

"Well, in that case, kiss them goodbye."

And with that, she shimmies out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews!**

* * *

Chapter Two

He's not used to anyone else being around when he can't sleep at four thirty in the morning. But when he sits on the bench under the great big oak tree, he's not surprised to see it's her.

"Can't sleep," he offers, as much a question for her as an explanation for his restlessness.

"Time zones." It feels incomplete, but he doesn't push.

"Right about now is usually when I wish I hadn't stopped smoking. Something to do when you can't sleep but you're too wired to read."

"Wish I'd started then." She has her right arm wrapped around her legs, tucked up in a corner of the bench. Next to her, between them, is a cup of what looks and smells like hot chocolate. It's been there long enough to go cold, but she hasn't touched it.

"Not coffee?" He says, gesturing at it. "The Gilmore tenets are a lot less strict than I remember."

"Wouldn't help with the sleeping thing, would it?"

"Like that ever used to stop you."

There's an absurdly loud silence again. The lack of sound around them only seems to make it even more uncomfortable.

"I bought one of these things," he volunteers, pulling out an electronic cigarette from his jacket pocket. "Tell you something? It's shit."

"Modern though. Very 21st century."

"Got a cell phone that I don't have to flip open and shut too, a couple of years ago. Finally cracked. It's got internet and everything."

"Careful, it's a slippery slope. You might get like a microwave or something and the world would definitely end."

"Have one of those, great for reheating leftovers."

"Not big on cooking?"

"I subsist solely on takeout, frozen pizza and ramen, depending how far away from a paycheck I am."

"My mom would be proud."

"Luke is about as horrified as you'd imagine. The word 'scurvy' was thrown around a lot last time he looked in my fridge." He twirls the plastic cigarette over in his hands one more time before shoving it back in his pocket. And then his hands are empty and feel insanely unwieldy and he's regretting it. He settles for staring at them. _Nice weather we're having, looks like it's gonna be a white Christmas. How've you been? Anything happen in the last ten years?_

Nothing comes out.

The verbal thing seems to mostly be going nowadays.

Rory picks up the cup, holding it gingerly. She sniffs at it and grimaces. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"That not being awake twenty four hours straight would be nice?"

"That."

"Want to go inside? We'll find some coffee, not Jack Torrance ourselves on this bench?"

She ponders it for a moment, biting her lip. Some things stick. "Fine, but if it starts snowing, I'm coming back out. I haven't seen snow in two years."

"Deal."

She gets to the door first, cold chocolate in one hand, and stands there for just a second too long before bringing the cup to her left hand to hold. There's something off about the whole thing, even if he can't see the grimace on her face.

The floorboards' creaks are loud, and make the inn seem even quieter than it is. She leads them to the kitchen, hurriedly. Once there, she pours out the chocolate and sets the mug down in the sink. She tugs at her coat, because it's nearly tropical after outside, but stops again.

This time, he doesn't miss the grimace. It all comes together, the weird one handed book holding, the door, the strangeness of it all.

"Go sit down," he says. "I'll make coffee."

"You sure? Sookie's really particular about her kitchen."

"Don't tell her it was me," he waves her towards the door again. She nods and leaves.

It doesn't take a genius to know where to find her. The furniture in the library had been shifted around for the party, leaving the two armchairs forming a sort of protective triangle for the tall side table. She's in the one on the right, coat discarded on the footrest. He moves the candy dish out of the way before setting the cups down, then sits down too.

"What happened to your arm?"

More lip chewing, like she's trying to decide between lying and pouring it all out. "You won't tell my mom?"

"Oh, you know me and Lorelai, always gabbing away."

"Luke?"

He cocks an eyebrow, as if to say _really? You have to remember me better than that._

She pulls the neck of her sweater down, and there's a bandage around her shoulder. He can't tell how far it goes.

"Bomb blew up, stuff flew around, some of it in my direction." It's bland and emotionless, which is just as well, because he's feeling just about everything in the world at the same time. "It's not as bad as it seems."

"How bad _is_ it?" He is, in fact, certain that he can't quite breathe. So he forces it. Inhale. Exhale. He's lost any idea that there is much justice in the world a while back, but this grabs and twists something inside him, deep in the pit of his stomach.

"Just… you know." She bites her lip again. "I don't know. Not bad. A graze mostly."

"Yeah, I hear grazes usually take about all the gauze in existence."

"It's not that much. A couple of rolls." She doesn't even sound defensive, just tired. "I'll live."

Another twist. Another forced breath. If she notices it, she doesn't say anything. "That's a shitty bar to set, still alive."

"People die in wars every day. Two hundred of them, in fact, on average, every single day. So still alive is the only bar I've got these days, Jess." It's the first time she's said his name, and it feels too intimate for both of them. Like that one small word has made it real, all of it. The being in the same room, the coffee, the bandage. The knees somehow banging against each other.

She lets the sweater recoil back up her arm. "It's why I'm here. Figuring things out."

"Like what?"

"Going back. If. When. Life. You know." She stares into her coffee cup. "I thought I had my life together for a change."

"Haven't you always?"

"Funny, that's what it felt like." She holds her hand over the coffee cup, her eyes focused on her movements. "I was so sure, you know?" She looks up, without warning, and it's straight into his eyes. "Back then. I had a plan."

"I remember." He holds her gaze.

"I couldn't get you and your whole go with the flow thing. So I followed the plan, bar a detour that you… with the yelling outside the bar and your book…" she tries to find the right words, but Jess moves his hand in a sweeping motion.

"I owed you one or two kicks in the right direction. God knows your foot must have been hurting."

She nods, because something in his tone doesn't leave any room to delve deeper into past-due gratitude. "Then I graduated and I drifted for a while. Not bad drifting, just finally trying out living in the moment. And then I got here. Well, _there._ " She lifts her face to the ceiling, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I found something I believed in. God, I've been sugar coating since I got here. _It's not bad, it's great, we're safe, not going anywhere dangerous, it's amazing_." It's fake cheerful. "It's shit, Jess. It's war and people are dying and I washed someone's brains out of my hair last week. I stood in my shower and watched bits of it circle the drain, bits of something that used to make up a person. And it's what I have to do, because we're not talking about war from behind barricades any more. I'm there, and all the other journalists are there, and we have bullet proof vests and helmets and so it goes."

She doesn't let him talk, doesn't stop for more than to breathe, levees broken. "And none of that matters. The hell of it, the death, the getting hurt," she glances down at her shoulder. "I feel like I'm where I should be, I'm writing about something I want to be writing about. It's not mom's dream that I stumbled into, it's not doing what I have to do to get somewhere. It's not Chilton to get to Yale, Yale to get a good job. This is my thing." Her cheeks are flushed, and she's inched forward on the chair, teetering on the edge.

"Sounds like there's not a lot to figure out."

"If only." She throws herself back, and winces as her shoulder hits the back of the chair. "I keep forgetting." She leans towards her cup, trying to pick it up. She thanks Jess when he hands it.

"What's there to figure out then?" He stopped thinking, because he isn't sure any of it is real anyway. The grandfather clock in the library is chiming five o'clock.

"It's easy" she says "to let myself feel good about it when I'm a few thousand miles away. There's politics. Not just, you know, war politics. But I'll put literal blood and sweat into a story and maybe get seventy dollars for it, or maybe not sell it at all because someone else scooped me on the gory details and so they're picked up by the wires, not me. And it's all about those gory details because who cares about angle when you can get body count first? Worst still? At the end of the day, it doesn't matter because no one's reading, no one's listening to what's going on. It feels endless, all of it. We're never going to go liberate the Ritz, you can't even tell the good guys from the bad guys, and they've destroyed all of it anyway. I'm running out of savings, I'm always tired, always scared, always angry. I don't have health insurance, 'cause that costs thousands, so this?" She looks at her shoulder again. "Some guy who did some work in an emergency room. I didn't dare clarify what he meant by work. I had to stop by Paris' and have her check it out for me when I got back. And then there's here. I can't bring it with me, I can't even think of it when I'm there, and I can't talk about _there_ here. My life's in boxes and I have to make sure I keep them apart so I don't hurt myself or anyone else." She stops, deluge finally under control, and then takes a sip. "You always made good coffee."

"I'm the office coffee guy these days." Small talk interlude to the downpour. "You should make sure you know the signs of gangrene, just in case." He points to her shoulder.

"Don't worry, I've googled it." She sets the cup down again, and in the process ends up closer to him. Again. She feels like a moth with a flame, flying awkwardly, away, in circles, and then pulled into it, because she can't stop it. Spilling her guts had never been part of the plan, and to him even less. But she's burning anyway, plan or no plan, flash fire scorching her.

"Your grandmother…? Come on, having loaded relatives has some upsides."

"And a trust fund," she smiles. "But it's not really standing on my own feet, is it? The pride thing, I get it from mom."

"Funny, I'd have called it stubbornness."

"There's a good dose of that in there too," she admits. "When I left there, I thought I wanted some selfishness, you know? To make going back easy. I'm not going to be doing it forever, but I want another year, year and a half. Maybe two. But now that I'm here and looking at everything I'm missing… I didn't even get to go to grandpa's funeral." She lowers her face, and stares at her knee, aware that she's still touching him. She pulls back. "Half my life is on hold for this… this amazing, terrifying thing I'm doing and I'm scared I'll die and never press play on the normal stuff again. Or that there won't be anything left in me for normal." She admits, in a decrescendo that means he has to strain to hear the last word. "And, even if I do get a chance, I don't know if there will be anything left for me. Everyone's moved on, Lane, Paris. And they've all got lives and I'm… there. Fuck. On hold." She chews at the inside of her cheek. "This was so much easier before I left the first time. I didn't want to miss anything, didn't want to add to that long list of stuff I said no to when I wanted to say yes. But now… I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. It's stupid." She lets out a sharp snort.

"I'm about as close to neutral as you'll find around here?"

"There is that." She picks up the cup again and holds it in her hand, just staring at it. Too drained to expend any energy on drinking. "Maybe it's the time, it's too early for polite fiction."

"I'm not great at that whatever the time is." He holds out his hand, ready to push a stray strand of hair away from her face, but stops before he reaches her skin. She looks at it hovering in the space between them for a moment before he pulls it back. "Come on, Rory, you don't expect me to say anything other than 'Do what you want', do you?"

"I don't think I expect you to say anything." She sets the cup down again and fixes the strand of hair he hadn't. "But I'll take suggestions for the pro/con list I've got going, if you have any."

"How about 'it's snowing outside'? I don't know where it would go on the list, but I didn't think you'd forgive me if I didn't tell you."

Rory turns to look out the window. The flakes are big and coming in quickly and she doesn't stop for her coat, just says "Come on," before practically jumping to her feet. He catches up to her after a minute. She has her tongue out, trying to catch a flake on it, good arm stretched out wide.

He stands on the porch, holding her coat, watching her spin slowly. When she's finally caught one, she closes her mouth and laughs, and for the slightest of moments, it sounds just like it used to back when both their worlds were easy and they didn't even know it.

He holds out her coat and she throws it over her left shoulder before slipping her right arm through the sleeve. She fumbles with the zipper.

"Let me do it," Jess steps down from the porch. Her hair is close to white already and she's got the biggest grin on her face. He can't help but smile back. "You have Doula to thank for the snow, she told me she asked Santa."

"I will." She looks at his hands as he fastens her coat. He stops somewhere two inches below her chin. "Hey, it's Christmas."

"Huh." His hands feel clumsy again, and stupid, and he doesn't want to move them away. He does it anyway and her eyes follow them as they move back to his sides. "Merry Christmas, Rory."

"Merry Christmas, Jess."

She makes the smallest movement towards his him, a pair of boots crunching the fresh snow and it's all it takes. Like a spark in a tinder box, her foot barely touching his is all they need. Gravity. Her cold fingers wrap around his. His warm right hand cradles her face, curled behind her ear, something delicately desperate about it. Their kiss is everything they can't find the words for.

They break apart for air, foreheads resting together, breaths visible and indistinguishable.

"I think you should go back," he whispers, even though he is wishing more than anything he could shut up.

She kisses him again.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews!**

* * *

Chapter Three

It's five hours and some restless sleep later. The handful of kids – Liz's, Lane's, Sookie's – are tearing through stacks of presents, while the other adults are watching over them indulgently.

"Careful, you look like you're having a nice time." She tears away from the crowd and walks to him, taking advantage of everyone else's distraction. She leans her back against the wall he's propping up at the far end of the room.

He smirks, glancing at her, still facing the kids. "You could say that."

To call it nice would be a stretch. It was never going to be, not a day when he has to talk to about twenty people, most of whom love to bring up his teenage misdemeanors. Like he can remember why he stole that fucking gnome anyway. But it's not all terrible.

"You disappeared this morning. One second there, then whoosh! Good thing there were footprints or I might have thought I had hallucinated the whole thing."

"There was a car coming. I didn't think I should be there."

"It was Mom."

"Huh, you'd have thought her 'Jess and Rory are doing something I don't approve of' Spidey senses would be rusty after all this time."

"It was the snow." Somehow, they seem to have inched closer. Her elbow is nearly touching him.

"Ah."

"So…" She stops. He looks at her. "It doesn't have to be anything. This morning."

"I don't know what I want it to be."

"Makes two of us."

"That again." Another smirk.

"Come by my room tonight. I'm in the honeymoon shack out back, you know where it is?"

He nods, just before catching some toy flying towards their heads at an alarming speed. A startled looking kid runs up to them and Rory takes the helicopter and hands it to him.

"Here, Kwan, let's take this outside before it breaks."

* * *

"Hey." He's standing outside, hands deep in jeans pockets. "Sorry it's so late, I couldn't really sneak out of my room with everyone still downstairs. There is a tree outside the window, but I'm getting too old for that." He tilts his head towards the inn, far enough away to be nothing more than a vague outline and some lights. "I can leave."

"Earlier than last night." She leans against the doorjamb.

"True."

"So, come in. It's cold." Rory steps back, opening the door wider. "Unless you only came to tell me you're not staying. Then it's still cold, but you won't freeze to death or anything. Because you're going back. I have wine, by the way. And whisky. Vodka too. Mom stocks these minibars really well and I don't think she's going to make me pay. And now it sounds like I'm trying to bribe you with booze. So?"

He shuts the door behind him. The room is big and too warm, but that one might be just him, and he cannot, as much as he tries, take his eyes off her. Still.

"Nice digs." He stops by a dresser, three steps to the left of the door. Leans on it. He looks down at his jacket, but taking it off seems like too much of a commitment to staying.

"I don't know, it feels like I'm in a horror movie when I'm out here by myself. Drink?" She asks, looking pointedly at an open bottle of wine on the coffee table, a half full tumbler next to it. "Alcohol is always good to blame bad decisions on."

"We haven't made any bad decisions yet."

She's standing at the foot of bed, good arm wrapped defensively around her body. "This morning then? Not a bad decision?"

"I don't know, depends on what scale we're using."

"Somewhere from Dick Rowe to King Priam going " _hey, that's a nice horse"_?"

"I can't tell what the worst end of that is." He smirks, running a hand through his hair. "What do you want to do?"

"See, you asked first and now I can't ask, so I don't know what to tell you. We should write it down on some notepads and flip them over at the same time."

"Rory…"

"I want to make some really bad decisions. Ok? That's what I want." She admits with a defiant shrug.

"How bad?"

"Monumentally so."

They move at the same time. Her hands go to his neck, his to her hips. At first it's innocent, nothing more than it's ever been. And then, inch by inch, button by button, it's not.

* * *

"You're not sleeping." He kisses the top of her head.

"Very astute."

"What's wrong?" He can feel her smile against his chest and moves his hand to her hair. Tangles a strand between two fingers.

"Nothing." She curls up closer to him. "Do you want to talk?"

"I want to sleep."

"Ok."

"Come on, talk." He pushes, amused.

"I don't want to. I mean I do. I want to talk about not wanting to talk."

"That makes no sense."

Rory props herself up on her elbow. "I don't want us to talk. I have no idea what just happened, I mean, yeah, I know what happened, obviously, but not the _us_ of it, but it was good, or I think it was good at least, and I'm afraid that if we talk, we're going to screw it up. You know, it might be our thing. Screwing us up. We're so good at that."

"Could you say 'good' a few more times?"

"Probably." She laughs. "So I want to go to sleep, with you, then wake up and maybe do this again and not talk."

"You're talking a lot for someone who doesn't want to talk."

"Yeah, well, it's what I do."

"I remember as much."

"So?" She lowers her head and kisses him. His hand on the back of her neck keeps her there when she tries to move.

"How set are you on waiting until the morning for another go?"

"Not very."

"Good."

* * *

There is a state of tender stasis as they both wake. His breath on her neck, her hand over his. Something closely akin to bliss, something she hasn't found in a very long time.

"I should go," he whispers after a while, kissing her shoulder blade. "Before everyone wakes up."

"Stay for coffee." She rolls onto her back, moving her left arm out of the way. "It's light out, they're all probably awake anyway. It won't make a difference."

"I'll start on the coffee." He nods, standing up after one more kiss.

"Do you mind if I…?" She picks her phone up from the nightstand.

"What, take a picture of this for proof?" He smirks, looking down at his t-shirt and boxers attire.

"Thought it might be something to sell the tabloids if you ever get famous."

"Yeah, there's a lot of money and fame in writing literary fiction."

"Lower your standards, do a vampire trilogy."

His look of disgust makes her laugh.

"Work. I should check on it." She holds up her phone again.

He nods, picking up the coffee pot.

Five minutes later, there's two matching cups on the nightstand. Rory's put the phone down again and pulled the bedsheet tightly around her body, hugging her knees to her chest. He sits on the edge of the bed, next to her.

"How's your arm?" He runs his curled fingers down her forearm, stopping at her elbow, just short of where the gauze ends.

"It's good. Only gets sore in the evenings, from all the moving it around."

"You sure you don't need to have it checked out by a doctor?"

"Paris is a surgical resident, I'm sure she knows a thing or two." She links her fingers with his. "I'm fine."

"In my defense, you never mentioned that part. It might surprise you to hear, given that we were such great friends, but Paris and I don't keep in touch."

"What, you're not Facebook friends?"

"Again, surprise, but I don't have an account." He leans over and kisses her.

"I guess that cigarette thing wasn't a gateway to all technology."

"Guess not."

She lets go of his hand when he pulls back, picking up the coffee cup instead. She rests it on her knee. "Come on, tell me something about your life. What have you been doing for the past ten years? Other than writing books and not joining Facebook?"

"Work. The writing thing doesn't pay enough to quit the day job."

"Truncheon?"

Jess nods. "We've grown a lot, but it's the same gig."

"How is it?"

"Hard. Not the most lucrative business. We do ok, though. Bought a bar, it helps keep us afloat when the books thing is on a lull. Truncheon keeps the bar afloat at times. Pretty symbiotic."

"That's pretty cool. The owning a bar thing," she clarifies. "Not the people don't buy books any more thing."

"It's not bad. We have local bands play once in a while. I'll show you around if you're ever in Philly." He reaches for his coffee, a hand still on her foot.

"I'd like that." She bites her lip, as if weighing something in her head.

"You wouldn't be the first person to ask me why I'm single this weekend, if that's what you're wondering." Jess smirks, giving her foot a squeeze. "You can ask."

"How did you know?"

"Figured it was going to crop up at some point."

"Ok, so why are you single?"

"You want a real answer, or you want what I told the lunatics?"

"Did they really ask you? Oh, you're so not scary anymore," she mocks.

"Babette and Patty."

"Yeah, I can see them asking. I think they've really lost all sense of boundaries lately."

"My mother likes to bring it up a lot too. She's particularly vicious in person."

"And you still talk to her?"

"I've been working on this whole not being too much of a miserable asshole thing. Before I became the Unabomber or something." He picks at a fold in the bedsheet for a moment. "There was someone. For a while."

"Long while?"

"A few years."

"What happened?" She pulls her lip between her teeth again.

He takes a mouthful of coffee, staring out the window as he tries to find the right words. It's picture perfect, with the paneled windows and snow falling heavily outside, glistening in the cold sun. The pause is long, and she's just about to tell him it doesn't matter, she doesn't really need to know, when he looks at her again. "You know how when you're with someone for a long time, you have the same fights over and over? Even when they start about something different, they always end up being about the same damn thing?"

She nods.

"Turns out it took nearly getting married for her to realize she didn't want to have that particular fight for the rest of her life."

"I can't picture you getting married." She says it with a hint of pondering amazement.

"Funny, I can't either." He drinks more coffee. Runs his hand over her leg. Smiles. "It was spur of the moment. Decided to elope to Maine, passed the sign for this place, I made some comment about it, and one thing led to another. You have your life in here and there boxes, I have mine in then and now ones." Another pause, and he sets his cup down next to hers. "It was the Hail Mary of all Hail Marys, the marriage thing. Breaking up when we did saved us a divorce."

She runs her hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok." He kisses her palm now resting on his cheek. "It wasn't then, but time's pretty lousy with perspective."

"It is that. Maine?" She adds after a pause, curiosity getting the better of her.

"No waiting between getting a marriage license and the big moment. It's three days in Pennsylvania. Well, there's no waiting in good ol' Connecticut either, but…"

She nods in understanding. It means they might not have had a second, third, umpteenth chance, even if what they're having isn't a chance, it's a stay of execution. It's scratching at an old wound she thought long scarred over.

"Your turn," Jess says.

"My current lifestyle doesn't really lend itself to much when it comes to relationships." She shrugs. "There was a guy I … uh, you know, for a while, but it wasn't anything. Someone to fake love with when we'd had enough of war." Another shrug. "I suppose the closest I've come to a relationship after Logan was Caleb. He was…" it's her turn to pause and stare out the window. "He was the sort of guy I could have seen myself with, at the worst time possible. I was working long hours, travelling a lot, and then I got this job and that was that. A few months later we might have done better, but it wasn't solid enough to make it through the distance. I don't know if anything can be." She scoots down the bed, still holding the sheet, until she's closer, then leans and kisses him. "I shouldn't have brought this up in the morning, it feels like the sort of discussion that could have used alcohol."

"Never too early to start drinking."

She glances at the clock on the nightstand. "Ten o'clock might actually be. And I am late." She adds, standing up, taking the bedsheet with her. "I'm supposed to meet Mom in reception right now."

"Don't worry, if she comes over, I'll hide under the bed."

"Don't forget to take the rest of your clothes with you." She laughs, throwing him his jeans from the floor. "I'm going to go shower. Give me a five minute head start to get her away from the front desk."

"Sure." He does up the zip on his jeans, then moves a hand to tame his hair, looking at it in the wardrobe mirror.

"Looks good." She wraps her arm around him from behind, kissing his shoulder. He can feel the sheet falling to the floor. "Come back tonight?"

"Ok."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews!**

* * *

Chapter Four

It's the third night in a row they're spending together. They've settled into a pattern, a fragile equilibrium they aren't willing to break.

"How did this happen?" He runs his hand over her arm. The gauze had been hanging half off her arm when he had gotten there and then he'd watched her through the open bathroom door try to stick Band-Aids over her bigger wounds, getting more and more frustrated, hrmpf-ing and grimacing before she'd given up and asked for his help. He had willed himself not to think too much as he worked around the deep purple bruises, not to talk either because his voice didn't really feel as under his control as he likes it to be.

"I wish I had a good story. Something heroic. You know, pulling a kid from a burning building or something?" She's curled up next to him in bed, remote in her hand. The movie posters and titles are flicking rapidly on the tv screen on the wall opposite. "An abandoned apartment building got shelled, I got hit. My vest took the brunt of it. Too bad they don't make them with sleeves."

"A nice bullet proof turtleneck." He smirks, kissing her temple. "Does that sort of stuff happen often?"

"Buildings exploding?"

"Buildings exploding in your vicinity."

She glances up at him, trying to read him. "Why, are you worried?"

"About you dying? Sort of. You have my books."

"I would have finished them by now, if I wasn't getting distracted every night." She moves onto his lap, draping the blanket around her shoulders and over his. "You're ruining all my reading time."

"Huh." He's tracing kisses down her collarbone.

"It's what I told my mom. Why I'm not spending more time at her house. Reading."

"It's a very important thing, reading."

"Very." She smiles, tilting his face up to kiss him. "It doesn't, by the way."

"What doesn't?"

"Buildings exploding, injuries. That stuff. We're fairly safe."

"Good." For a moment, he just looks into her eyes, hands stopped from their roaming. And then, afraid he might say something stupid, he kisses her again.

* * *

It's different. The wood creaks and gives differently under his feet. God knows he's spent enough time on that damn bridge to be able to identify it blindfolded in a lineup of fifty small wooden bridges, if there ever was such a thing. Still, musings on the subject of bridges get interrupted by two arms wrapping around him from behind.

"Hey." She lets go as quickly as she's appeared, not before kissing his neck.

"Thought you couldn't get away." He's got his arm around her waist now.

"Sookie had some sort of emergency, Mom went to help. Figured you could use the company."

"Who doesn't love company?"

"I don't have long."

"Shame."

The conversation is breathless between kisses. "You know people come here now." She tells him before pulling away. "We're going to get caught."

"This is worse than high school." There's something about getting caught that's making it impossible to stay away. Or at least that's what he pretends it's about. He moves closer again, and she circles his neck. "Who comes here?"

"Mom says it's popular with the high school kids. Taylor and Kirk raid it periodically to ensure there's no mischief."

"How hipster of us, we hung out here before it was cool."

"Bet most of them haven't been pushed in, you've still got an edge."

"I feel like I should leave a review around here for future generations: would not recommend."

"You can probably do it on Yelp." She ruffles his hair. "I should have stopped for coffee. It's freezing out."

"Let's go to the diner, we can not make out there too."

She nods, kissing him one last time before they start out for _Luke's_. Hands not letting go until the last possible moment. He shoves his into his pockets as he says "I'm not sure us appearing together from that bridge is going to be any less gossip creating."

"Than being caught kissing?"

"Ok, _that_ much less gossip creating."

"I think us being in town at the same time has already gotten them all talking."

"Completely baseless rumors."

"Of course," Rory laughs.

He holds the diner door open for her. Luke's cocked eyebrows get a glare in response.

"Find a table, I'll get coffee. Did you have lunch?"

"Yeah, Mom and I were here earlier."

"Did I even have to ask?" He rolls his eyes, smirking. He heads behind the counter, stacking two cups, coffee pot in the other hand.

"What's up with that?" Luke asks, low voice.

"What?"

"You and Rory."

"We're having coffee. Or what, did Taylor finally get his way and ban unmarried people from sitting at the same table?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, I really don't." He shoots back. The table she chooses is in the corner, right next to the window. Back to the wall, she's looking out. "This place, I swear," he half mumbles, filling the cups and disappearing to return the pot.

"When are you leaving?" She asks as he sits opposite her.

"Not sure." He's twisting the salt shaker in one hand. "I'm not going back to work until the fifth, but I was going to have an emergency and head back a lot sooner than that."

"And now?"

Shaker stops, he looks at her. "I don't know. Any ideas?"

"I think Philadelphia is fairly safe without you there." She smiles.

"It's probably worth the risk, isn't it?"

"I think so." She holds his gaze for as long as she can, aware that Luke is staring at them from the counter and half the tables have taken a distinct interest in them too. "How come you can take so long off work?" She busies herself with her half empty coffee cup.

"Truncheon's usually dead over the holidays. The bar needs extra help, but I did it five years in a row, so when I said I had writing I wanted to do, they didn't have a leg to stand on."

"Five years? Seriously?"

"Not big on this whole holidays thing." He shrugs.

"Didn't…" she pauses, looking for the right word. "Your ex? Wasn't she into it? I didn't think you'd come here every year, but I don't know. Spending the holidays in a bar is sort of sad."

"Don't worry, there's tinsel. And a tree."

"Well, if there's a tree."

"It's a very festive tree. One of the guys I work with goes so crazy with it, even Lorelai would be proud." He smirks. "Lilah, she's not into Christmas either. And a lot of people spend New Year's in a bar, it's better to do it in one you can't get kicked out of."

"Makes sense." She drinks some of her coffee. "You know when you said she and you had the same fight all the time? What was it about?"

"Not what to do for the holidays."

"Ok." There's a hint of disappointment there.

"Then, mostly. And this place." Another shrug. "She met Luke and Liz, but she didn't get why I didn't want to spend more time with them, and in this place, and I didn't bother explaining it. Talking about stuff has never been my thing."

"Feels familiar." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, that was…"

"Called for." He interrupts.

"I was going to go with 'ancient history'. You're doing better, with the talking."

"Told you, there's only so much you can fuck up before you need to fix it." He picks up his cup too. "Can we talk about something else now?"

"I don't know, you mentioned writing earlier. You sure you want me to change subjects?"

"I'll pick, how's that?"

"Like the coward's way out."

"Did you hear there's a new Harper Lee book coming out?"

* * *

It's New Year's. There's Founder's Day punch instead of champagne in the town square. His mother drags him off the bench where he's been reading most of the evening to watch the disco ball piñata thing be hit with baseball bats and spray confetti all over them. The ball falls to the ground without fully opening, holding prisoner the big surprise Taylor had been talking about all evening , but everyone's approaching a level of drunkenness that lends itself marvelously to not caring.

There's no midnight kiss. There's a hand that slips around his when he's not looking, and he squeezes back, still talking to Zack about the state of the East Coast music scene.

They make up for it in the early hours.

* * *

Sunday morning. Four thirty. She woke up suddenly after a few hours of fitful sleep and watched the last twenty three minutes tick by on the vintage alarm clock her mother had found behind a bookcase at _Kim's Antiques_. The alarm only works if it's set to go off between one and three. Lorelai calls it character.

"You know…" He runs a hand down her bare shoulder.

"You're awake too?" She smiles, turning over to look at him. "Yeah, I know."

Pushing a stray strand of hair back in its place, he forces a smile back. "What do you want to do?"

"Have coffee. Postpone the inevitable."

"Sounds like a plan." He moves to get up, but she puts out a hand to stop him.

"I'll do it."

There's a t-shirt hanging off the back of a chair that she pulls on before going to the coffee machine. She goes through the motions without talking, without as much as glancing at the bed. While she waits for the coffee to brew, she forces herself to look out the window. The fog's doing nothing to help.

Thud-thud-thud. It's her heartbeat, loud in her chest.

His arm wraps around her waist from behind. "I can just go." He whispers before pressing a kiss to her hair.

"Do you want to?" She puts her hand over his.

"No."

"Sit down then. Coffee'll be ready in a minute."

There's a fireplace in the furthest corner of the room from the door, a loveseat in front of it. He settles for it, since the bed doesn't feel right. Nothing does, and it's not the furniture's fault, but he can't help but curse it internally anyway. Two minutes later, she sits next to him, the cups on the small table in front of them.

"So…" She lets it drag.

"Yeah." His eyes are fixed on her. "You going back?"

"I am," she nods, thankful to have something she knows the answer to. "I'll pull some money from my trust fund, or dad maybe? I don't know yet, but I'll figure it out. I can't sit here and watch it all happen on tv, you know?"

"I get it." He wraps his hand around hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "But if you decide to write your memoirs and don't give me a shot at the manuscript…"

"You'll be my first query letter."

"Good."

She looks at their hands together, then lifts his up to her lips and kisses his palm once. "Do you know how much easier this would be if I knew how not to feel things with you? All of it, the history of us would be so much less messy if my heart didn't get in the way every time. You'd go to your corner, I to mine, and we'd share a reindeer cookie in another ten Christmases' time. But it's you, and that feels about as likely as Oasis having a nice reunion tour."

"Oasis?" There's a hint of disgust in his voice.

"My mother has hope."

"Your mother needs better taste in music." He smirks.

"She also needs to learn to embrace Spotify and find some music that came out this decade, but that's not really happening either." She lets go of his hand, takes a cup between both of hers. "I don't know what to do about this. You and me. I really just… can't figure out the path of least pain."

His freed arm rests along the back of the loveseat.

"You're this landmark," she says, "in the landscape of all the stuff that's ever hurt. It's all from zero to you and with everyone else, the puck's not even come halfway up the high striker." She watches him. He nods, waiting. Practically holding his breath. "There's a flipside to that, because when it's not about the pain? The world could be going to hell around us and I wouldn't care. And maybe it's time, being lousy with perspective again, but I think overall that balance weighs to the good side. This week was like that. It's all been good. Effortless. There's a lot to be said about something that just falls into the right place. At least for me, anyway." She's suddenly hesitant, looking at him, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Not just you." He runs his hand through her hair.

"Then the math should be simple. But we add half a world to it, and it all gets lopsided and I think there's now an integral too somewhere in there. I was never any good with those."

"Tell me about it, I didn't even graduate high school."

"That wasn't really lack of brains." She smiles, putting the cup back on the table, coffee untouched. Curling her legs under her, she looks at him. "I don't know what to do about us, Jess. What do you want?"

"You."

"Well, that's…" she can feel herself blushing and laughs softly at herself. "You're…" instead of trying to make sense of what she wants to say, she leans across and kisses him. "I want you too. You, me, like this? No brainer."

"And there's the rub, isn't it?" He asks, moving his free hand to her bare legs. "It wouldn't be like this."

"No." She shakes her head, before resting it on his shoulder. "It wouldn't be like this."

They're both quiet. His thumb traces small circles on her skin.

"It's not just about the distance either," she starts talking again. "Don't get me wrong, it would suck. I watch people I work with be in boats like this one, and they're all taking on water. You and me? We'd be the Titanic."

He can't help but smirk. "Now, now, Pollyanna."

"Fine, maybe it's a bit dramatic. We'd be more the Pequod, I think, putting up a good fight. There's all this damage we have. From everything else too, not just the us of it. When it crops up, and it's bound to, there's nothing like six thousand miles to make harpoons and life boats useless. But it's not really doomed 'cause we'd know where it's headed and we could just turn around, sail for safer waters until we could have another go at the whale." She lets out a deep sigh, thankful she doesn't have to look at him. "The thing is though, I'm so scared. The mental boxes? They're there for a reason. I'll open an email from mom and it will nearly kill me, thinking of this life. I don't know how I would deal with it if you were in the mix too, what pain would come with it. I feel like a coward to even think about it, to throw it in the equation."

"You've already been blown up, you can use an ounce of self-preservation." He kisses the top of her head. "Rory…"

"One more thing, then you can have the conch."

"Ok."

"I might not have anything to give." She lifts her head again to look at him. "I'm so drained all the time, I don't know where I'd find anything to put into a relationship. And that's not fair to you. There might be days, weeks where you'd have to give more than your fair share and I'm scared about that too. Scared it would wear you down, make you resent me. Make you not happy." She runs a curled finger down his cheek. "I really just want you to be happy. And I want to be with you, despite all that, despite being pretty close to sure we'd be heading for the largest iceberg in the world with Moby Dick on our tail. Because I know this devil, the one with the leaving and the not giving us a fair chance and I've promised myself more than once I wouldn't go near him again." She shrugs. "There you go. I'm in, if you want to be in, if you think it would be worth it. If you think you would be happier than if we jumped ship now." It's been weighing on her mind the whole week, always there, in a knot she couldn't make head or tails of. It unraveled itself as she spoke, but the string's taut now and it's making her damn near vibrate with anxiety.

Thud-thud-thud.

He cups her face in both hands. Doesn't move for a moment, looking at her. Then, slowly, dips lower and kisses her. "I'm in," he says.

"Just like that?" She doesn't know why she's questioning it.

"Yes."

"You can think about it. I've thrown a lot of cards on the table and some pretty crappy metaphors, you can take some time over it."

"Did you want me to say no?"

"No." She shakes her head. She still feels like she's vibrating, but it's a lot less anxiety and more rising happiness. "There's another option."

"Rory…" he groans and she shushes him with a kiss.

"We can press pause instead. When I get back, if you'd still want to, we could have this talk again."

"Nope. I'm good with now."

"But…"

"I can sign an affidavit if you want. ' _Fully aware of all risks. Going ahead anyway, because I'm also shit at self-preservation'_."

"I just might make you." She laces her fingers through his, pushing him back against the couch. Another kiss, less gentle, and she's straddling him. "It's going to suck, you know?"

"Really? 'Cause this past week, with the moaning and stuff…? I didn't think it was half bad."

"I meant the distance."

"I figured." He frees a hand and tugs her shirt up. She helps him take it off.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. Shout out again to NotThereNeverAround without whom this story would still be a stinking mess somewhere in the depths of my hard drive. It's been fun being back :).**

* * *

Chapter Five

She's finishing a fresh cup of coffee, flipping through a book, when there's a knock.

"I forgot their lunch," Lorelai rattles off as soon as Rory opens the door. "Luke is having lunch with Jess here and the rest of their family, and I'm apparently technically part of that family and he thought I was coming, which I didn't know, but anyway, I'm going so we need to postpone our lunch unless you want to come too, which you should, because I want to spend time with you. Oh, and we've lost Jess. Or he's sleeping, whatever, but no one has any idea where he is, his phone is going straight to voicemail and he won't answer the door. His going away lunch is going to be very weird without the going away-ee." She pauses, tilting her head to the side. "You're out here."

"Yes."

"That's the shower I hear, right?"

Rory can feel herself blushing, and there's suddenly something fascinating about the floor. "Yes." It's low, and dragged.

"Do I want to ask? You left it on?" Lorelai can barely suppress a chuckle.

"Let's go with that."

"You brought a guy here. In my inn. Cavorting with a guy in my inn."

"Mom, I'm a grown up."

"You're blushing like a teenager though." The laughter is no longer suppressed. "You're so busted!"

"Go away." Rory starts shutting the door.

"What about lunch?"

"I don't know."

"Why, do you have plans with the guy?"

"I reiterate my desire for you to go away." It's helped by the shower stopping.

"No, I get it, the guy is coming out, you don't want him to meet your mother yet. Too soon? Is it all too new? Is he really, really ugly and you're embarrassed? Is it Kirk? You know he and Lulu are married, right? Back to your old habits again? Oh, oh!" She nearly yelps in her excitement. "Did you find him on Tinder? I wanted to get an account, just to see who in town had one, but Luke nixed that idea, the spoilsport."

"I'll see you later." She closes the door another inch.

"Is he good, this guy?" Lorelai asks, no more laughing.

She pauses, but the smile that creeps onto her face is enough of an answer on its own. "Yeah."

"Good." She squeezes Rory's arm. "Come find me when you're ready."

"I will."

"And tell Jess not to miss lunch!" Last parting shot as she heads back down the path.

* * *

There's a shared look and a wordless decision before they walk into the dining room. Hands clasped together.

* * *

"You were supposed to leave an hour ago." Her head's on his chest, his heartbeat echoing through her. A hand tangled lazily with his, his other through her hair.

"I know."

"It's dark outside."

"I got these lights put on the front of my car a while ago, just have to flick a switch. Really help see when it's dark."

"That sounds like a good idea, I hope it catches on."

He glances at the clock on the nightstand, kissing the top of her head. "I really should go."

"I'll make you a cup of coffee to take with you." She doesn't wait for him to argue before throwing her robe on and starting on the coffee.

It takes him two minutes to get redressed and splash some water on his face. Then, leaning against the bathroom doorjamb, he watches her try to dig something out of the closet. She lets out some kind of victory cry when she finds the travel mug, holding it up for him to see. _Stars Hollow – come for a day, stay forever!_

"Come and play with us, Danny. Forever and ever."

"Right?" She laughs, sitting on the edge of the bed, still holding the mug like a precious trophy. "Taylor's idea."

"You don't say."

"Fifty, fifty, could have well been Kirk."

"True."

"He gave it to me the other day – Taylor did – I think he hopes people are going to see it when I'm _there_ and want to visit but I can't really see myself ever using it because creepy reminders are reminders too, at the end of the day, and… all that stuff. From all the talking?" He nods. "You're going away too, so you can be the tourism poster boy. Put it on your desk at work or something, it will be a nice talking point. Though I don't know how that would work with your then and now thing? Do you never mention here? Do all the people you work with think you're on a yoga retreat or something?" She's rambling and it's half forced, because she's terrified that if she stops talking she'll start to feel again and feeling isn't a luxury she can afford herself.

"They have a vague idea. Doesn't come up much."

"So before you left you said…?"

"Don't drink all the beer."

"Figures." She smiles, looking down at the cup again. "You don't have to have it. Thought I'd offer it though. Long drive, keep you awake?"

"I'll take it." A shrug. "Rory?"

"You don't have to take this thing."

"When you're there?" He doesn't pay attention to what she's said. "Look, if this thing, with you and me? If it starts to suck because of the here and there? You've got a pass. Send me an email and I'll see myself out, no questions asked. Say when."

"That's not what the Foo Fighters say to do though, the song's all 'promise not to stop' and Dave Grohl is in my musical pantheon, I don't know if I should anger him."

"Do we really want to take life advice from the guy who sang 'fingernails are pretty, fingernails are good' though?"

"No one's perfect." She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. "You have to do it too. If it sucks too much, you've got to say when."

"So _I_ can anger Dave?"

"Dave'll live." She stands up, cup in one hand, heading for the coffee machine. Looking at the cup, she shakes her head. "Let me rinse this at least." She tries to go past him, but his arm goes to her waist, stopping her in her track.

"Deal?"

"I don't know, Jess. Maybe after all of our crap, it's worth taking some more just so we can have a good chance when I get back. It's not going to be forever, _there_."

"That's very big picture of you."

"The details aren't great. Terrible brushstrokes."

"I'm not suggesting bail at the first sign of water. But if you're sinking? Get in a lifeboat, I'll hold down the ship, we can try again when you're back."

"I really should have picked a better metaphor, I'm getting over this boat one." She kisses him. "That self-preservation thing? I'm not good at not being stupid when it comes to things that hurt. So try is all I've got. But I will try not to get too far underwater before I jump ship. If I have to and if you promise to do the same."

"Yeah." He pulls her closer and she wraps her arms around him.

"Good thing the good's great, all of these caveats are starting to make us look like a terrible idea."

"The worst."

She smiles before kissing him again. "Let me get this coffee thing done."

"But then you'll kick me out."

"I'm kicking you out with or without coffee. Better go for the 'with'. Coffee is always the better call."

"So that hot chocolate…?"

"Once. That was once." She laughs, pulling away from him. She lets her hand glide down his arm, squeezing his fingers quickly before letting go. A minute later, she hands him the full cup. "You know, I'm starting to think that slogan's not all wrong, you stayed longer than you planned to."

"It wasn't the town." He's holding the books he came to get. "You sure you don't want to keep these?"

"…It might be nice to have something to read before I go." She trades them for the coffee cup before leaving them on the nightstand. "Plus I'll have a nice built in excuse to come see you next time I'm in the country."

"Here I thought the free beer was enough." He moves back again, trying his hardest to stay away from her. He wasn't going to stay when he'd come for the books, but then somehow, they happened.

"There's free beer?"

"Well, free was going too far. I'm sure we can barter for it."

"I'll bring a chicken or something." She lets out a deep, audible breath, looking at the bag at his feet. "You'll email?"

"Get a skype account too."

"Something fitting, right? Pink-bunny-slippers-xx? You've gotta have Xs."

"Thought I might go for my name."

"Boring."

"I'll throw in an x." He smirks, running a hand through his hair. Doesn't even dare look at the clock. "I…" he stops. Neither of them say anything else and it's just long enough to forget he was trying to stay away from her. Their hands close together, nothing more. More would have to end too and this is about as much as they both think they can bear.

"I've been doing this for a really long time and I still don't know how to do it right. Goodbye never seems enough but… It's all I've got. Goodbye. Lousy as it is. I'd walk you to your car but this" she waves her free hand to point out her robe "and my mother would be watching. Half the town too, they'd all probably be here because … this place, right?"

"I think I'll find the way all by myself."

"In that case..." she lets go of his hand. "Come on, get out. You're making me late for dinner with Mom."

"And the interrogation."

"I'm sure she's set up a room already."

He picks up his bag, travel mug in the other hand. "I hope she doesn't approve, I don't know how much fun that would be."

"I'll tell her you're a drug addict if she does. It'll be good for both of you, I don't know how she'd deal with approving of you."

"Appreciate it." He smirks. "Goodbye feels pretty useless from this side too."

"We'll work on it. In case we have to do it again. Maybe come up with a code word."

"Sounds like a plan."

She shrugs, forcing a smile. "Seriously, I need to go to dinner. I don't do well without food."

"I know." His hand tightens around the bag's handle.

"Call when you home, ok? So I know you got there alright."

"You're worrying about me, huh?"

"Someone's got to."

"Know what? Focus on staying alive, I think I'll be ok over here."

"You want me to look up crime rates in Philly?"

"Bet they're gonna be lower than Syria's."

He takes a step back, getting closer to the door. She watches him, then steps back too.

As soon as he touches the handle, she's there, next to him, having lost to a surge of energy she fought to control. He drops the bag and wraps his arm around her while she circles his neck.

"Almost made it." She chuckles before finding his mouth with hers. Nothing coherent forms in her head, nothing she can string together. She settles for kissing him again, because it's easier than talking. She's also the first to pull back, taking his hand again, forcing it away from her body. "Get out."

"I…" he runs the free hand through his hair, hesitant. Then: "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Jess." She holds the door open for him. He picks up his bag again, steps towards the cold night. "You know, I think I figured something that might be better than goodbye," she tells him as he steps over the threshold. "I'll write. How's that?"

"Better than goodbye." He smiles. "Stay away from exploding buildings."

"I'll do my best." She fixes a strand of his hair he'd messed up earlier. "You'll talk to me if the boat trip sucks too much?"

"Might be muffled, my head'll be under water."

"Shout."

"Will do. You?"

"Yes." She nods. "Now…"

"I know, get out."

She lifts her hand in a small wave, still leaning against the open door. He looks down the path, then back at her. His turn to lose, he turns back to her. She grabs hold of his jacket, pulling him close as their mouths find each other again. It doesn't last nearly long enough, even though they're both willing it to be infinite. Last kisses never do.

She pushes him back, pushes herself away from him at the same time. No more, because they both know they're stupidly close to talking themselves into staying, into jumping in the car, into giving it all up, screw it, let's just see about here now. Instead, she lifts her hand in a small wave. He nods in reply before heading down the path.

She counts three steps (thud-thud-thud, her heart calls again). "Jess?"

He turns around to look at her again.

"I hope we slay this damn whale."

"Me too."

"And even if we don't…?" She waits for him to tell her what she already knows, what her heart's telling her.

"It'll be one hell of a trip."

THE END


End file.
